


The Morning After

by drea_rev



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bayojeanne, Bisexual Character, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, Food, Food mentions, Jeannetta - Freeform, Journaling, Kissing, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Mutual Pining, Nonverbal Communication, Romance, Stress, Talenti Blood Orange Sorbetto, Trust Issues, Walk Of Shame, bi Bayonetta, don't be afraid to catch feelings, homefries, i failed tag school, is it angst or fluff or did i just fail tag school, lesbian Jeanne, memory foam mattress, nonverbal Jeanne, post-coital arguments, the morning after, this fic kept me marginally sane during unemployment, vaginal pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drea_rev/pseuds/drea_rev
Summary: Bayonetta wouldn’t be Bayonetta without that husky, lustful tone or the charm that would sound fake coming from anybody else. No one else could talk you into bed like Bayonetta.Especially if you were Jeanne.And maybe—Jeanne moved her left foot in an exploratory circle, checking how tight the sheet wrapped it—just maybe, the same thing that attracted her so much about Cereza was going to be a big problem as soon as the outcasted Umbran witch got bored.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should be applying for more jobs instead of writing this but oh well damn

It wasn’t that Jeanne didn’t appreciate Cereza’s flirty, no, _seductive_ demeanor. In fact, their legs now entangled in the same twisted cotton sheet, with Cereza’s feathery eyelashes and just barely chapped lips inches away on the pillow next to Jeanne’s, she thought it seemed to _fit_ her, like the little black catsuit and the heels. Bayonetta wouldn’t be Bayonetta without that husky, lustful tone or the charm that would sound fake coming from anybody else. No one else could talk you into bed like Bayonetta.

Especially if you were Jeanne.

And maybe—Jeanne moved her left foot in an exploratory circle, checking how tight the sheet wrapped it—just maybe, the same thing that attracted her so much about Cereza was going to be a big problem as soon as the outcasted Umbran witch got bored.

The sheet peeled off from Jeanne’s skin reluctantly, and she cursed how sweaty last night had been, sitting gingerly up. _Oh_. She could still feel a trace of Cereza’s touch inside her. A hot, hot blush blossomed up her neck and into her cheeks.

Good thing the guilty party in question was still asleep. From somewhere Jeanne could hear birds, and quiet bars of jazz from the stereo Cereza had turned on last night with a flick of dark magic from her fingertips before pressing Jeanne into the mattress with those lips and the voice they flavored.

 _It was never supposed to feel like this_ , Jeanne thought, and then tried to purge that thought from her brain in favor of _I need to fucking haul it before this battleaxe wakes up_.

Because Cereza _enjoyed_ fucking and all related activities. She didn’t fantasize about a future. And when she did wake up, she was going to tease Jeanne all the way to Paradiso and back, because fucking didn’t make her feel vulnerable or close, it was _fun_. And Jeanne was well aware of this arrangement when they started this—Affair? Hookup? Fuckbuddyship?--several months ago, and as aware of it now—just apparently her heart had decided to have other ideas. So she wasn’t going to be caught dead trying to keep a poker face while Cereza teased her about last night, about those little soft gasps and shudders that escaped her at the slightest touch--

Jeanne’s heart nearly stopped as she slipped, finally, out of the sticky sheets and Bayonetta rolled over with a sigh. But she just continued to breathe evenly on her back, her hand above and behind her head, resting on those tousled dark tresses.

Jeanne exhaled. She ran her own hand through her hair, and then looked accusingly at the record player. She zapped it with her own brand of magic to shut it up, and in an attempt to end whatever last night had begun.

She briefly considered taking a quiet, quick shower, and then almost laughed. She had seen Luka’s deoderant in Bayonetta’s bathroom months ago and felt as if a Kinship had struck a direct hit on her. She wasn’t going to risk seeing his toothbrush, or god forbid, his condoms in there. She could lynx-morph and make it to her own apartment in minutes, with the shortcuts she knew now. Dashing through alleyways, underneath fences and across parking garages was a no-brainer from this particular loft.

That still left the matter of finding wherever Cereza had thrown her red jacket when she kissed her as she stepped inside. The witch had slipped the jacket off of her and trailed her lips down her bare neck until Jeanne whimpered.

And then Bayonetta had laughed, pulling away. “Pull yourself together.”

Jeanne finally found her jacket on top of the fridge, after a few minutes of searching everywhere while worriedly listening for her fellow witch to awaken. She checked for her keys—good, still pocketed. She was pretty sure she had lost a favorite lipstick or perfume atomizer from the other pocket, but in the interests of hauling ass, she named it a sacrifice to whatever deity governed casual sex and gently, softly cracked the front door as she zipped on her boots.

“Jeanne?”

The sleepy, muffled voice came from the other room and instantly brought Jeanne back to the embarrassing fantasies she’d had while under Bayonetta the night before; a house with seemingly infinite miles of grass, a garden, and for some reason, constant sunlight—sunlight, for witches whose power hinged on operating _nocturnally_!

There was the sound of fabric flapping and then Jeanne though she heard a gasp and then, quieter and in a voice Jeanne almost didn’t recognize, “ _Jeanne_. Not _again_!”

How could only a few words make her feel so weak? How could they freeze her to the spot? Behind her there were soft footsteps on the tile.

“My, aren’t _we_ in a hurry.”

Jeanne let the door close and looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to...”

“Wake me?”

Jeanne somehow couldn’t say yes. Cereza was leaning out of the bedroom door completely naked and the kitchen window’s light was setting off her shoulders and breasts.

“Pray tell, where do you have to be so early on a Sunday, Jeanne darling?”

Jeanne tried to take a steadying breath. _Pull yourself together_. “A bit sore. That’s all. Thought I could get some rest at home.”

“Where?”

“At—at home, Cereza. At my...” She couldn’t say it. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. For goodness’ sake. They shouldn’t have ever ruined their friendship with a kiss.

“I mean where does it hurt?” Cereza walked across the kitchen’s wood floor with those perfect bare feet. Jeanne felt her breath warming her neck as she slipped her hands around Jeanne’s midsection. She pressed her lips against the back of Jeanne’s neck and the witch failed miserably at suppressing a shudder, breathing in almost too-cold outdoors air.

“Jeanne? Where? I...touched a lot of different parts, what hurts?”

 _You touched everything_. “It doesn’t hurt, dear….it’s just sore... _Where_? Skene’s gland? Cervix? What do you want, a _map_? You didn’t seem to need one last night.”

Jeanne gently pushed off Cereza’s hands from her abdomen, picked up her human womens’ purse and slipped outside the door. She listened for the confirming close of the door behind her but it never came, and she looked back to find Bayonetta looking at her with _those_ eyes.

“I could run you a bath,” the witch said, with utter ice in her voice. “Or do you want to go see a human doctor? Just let me get dressed, for--”

“No, no—Cereza, a bath is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Bayonetta snapped as Jeanne passed her, taking off her jacket, “I don’t mean to delay you, of course. In case there’s anyone important you’re meeting. I just thought I might help take care of it if it’s my fault.”

Jeanne went to lie facedown on her same makeup stained pillow and eventually, the soothing sound of the tub being filled lulled her to a pleasant state of semi consciousness. She could feel herself being disrobed then, and carried to be immersed the cool yet not frigid water, and a fragrant pillow set under the back of her neck so she wouldn’t strain it on the hard edge of the tub, and she thought she felt something brush her cheek, but it was so light it could have been part of a dream.

And she slowly began to wake up again in the water. And when she heard the front door open and shut, she finally allowed herself to sob.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H O M E F R I E S
> 
> Content warnings:
> 
> food mentions, profanity, sexual themes

It gave Jeanne a chuckle that her students would whisper to each other about her, “Ms D’arc always gives extra homework—she makes you _write a journal_!”

And as a former student of the Umbran witching academies, she knew it was normal and fine to gripe about your teachers. The funny part was that even some of the students who complained loudest about having to write additional homework (even though the journal requirement was informal, ungraded, and not shared with her or the class unless a pupil chose to read passages from theirs) were often to be seen journaling in the hall, in the stairwells, even at lunch, seemingly grateful for a place to put their vulnerable thoughts and feelings without saying a word.

You could _trust_ a journal.

And Jeanne had trusted hers with details of the past several months that would make her blush head to toe. 

Shehad been so engrossed in writing in the leather-bound book that when her antique clock struck seven, she realized not only had she not checked her voicemails, but she had also not even begun to prepare dinner.

The voicemails, it being Friday night, weren’t paramount, but she wanted something to listen to while chopping potatoes. The first few calls were often automatic messages from the school, sometimes with the principal cracking jokes while informing them if they were closed for severe weather or not, or schedules for PTA meetings. Sometimes she got an angry parent. How dare she flunk so-and-so. Did she really think a motorcycle was appropriate for an employee of a school of such caliber? Her haircut was too this or not enough that. A belligerent sequence of numbers for her to call so the parent could continue yelling with an actual audience present.

And somehow, like today, the last one was almost always Bayonetta.

“Darling, you really didn’t have to leave me your lipstick. It’s not a color that suits me,” drawled the voice from the tinny speaker.

“Liar,” Jeanne called over her shoulder. “There aren’t colors that don’t suit you, and you know it.”

“--so I’m going to need to come by and bring it back. Unfortunately your fragrance smells like monkey asshole. I had to shoot it full of holes out back. It’s decidedly _not_ comin’ home.”

The laughter in Cereza’s voice contrasted heavily with the shame that crept up from Jeanne’s stomach and made her whole body feel queasy. She swallowed as she glanced from the cubed potatoes back at the phone. She loved Cereza’s perfume: she was pretty sure it was Gucci Guilty Black, because that was on her vanity table at her apartment. Cereza apparently hated hers.

“...and if you get this before seven, call and let me know if you need anything at the store.”

Jeanne glanced up at her little spice cabinet, the oils sitting in a shelf attached to the open door. She picked up the phone, sighing.

“Cereza?”

“Look who _finally_ answered her phone,” Bayonetta’s voice could melt you to pieces, both emotionally and sexually. “I’m on my way to you.”

“I...I don’t have any oil,” Jeanne picked up the green glass bottle, tilting it to see zero liquid. “I was about to fry the potatoes.”

“You don’t have spices for homefries either.”

“Yes I do!”

“Salt and pepper don’t count.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you like bland food.”

They used to do this all the time, since they were children...so why did it suddenly begin to sting now?

“Jeanne?”

 _It’s because I’m on my period. I’m just not this weak, this isn’t how things go_ , Jeanne thought, rolling a sad white cube of raw potato across the cutting board with her finger. She was both unable to speak around the lump in her throat, and unable to hang up.

“So oil, anything else?” Bayonetta said, as if waking someone up. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Jeanne set the phone down and fell weakly back into her armchair. She glanced over at the words she’d just penned into her journal:

_It’s not that I don’t want this so badly. Because I can’t bear to be without her touch for very long, every time...it’s just that I want us to sometimes only kiss or sometimes only talk and sometimes only read books or go places together and I know she would just laugh at the idea of anything else._

Jeanne closed the cover and wrapped the lock around it, sealing it with a spell.

  
_B_

The potatoes were just finished boiling when Bayonetta’s knock came on the door. Jeanne had left them to drain in the colander, all fluffy and perfect, and turned her thoughts, as was her custom, to what she would first do with the witch on the other side of the door.

Even moments before seeing Bayonetta, her heart would give an electric start as she imagined touching the woman’s shoulders, glancing over their muscle tone, then looking up into those gunpowder eyes before finally being kissed and losing herself in those lips. Except that wasn’t exactly how it went tonight.

For some reason, as soon as their eyes met, she lifted a finger from Cereza’s left shoulder and ran it over the edge of the dark witch’s lower lip. Cereza bit, drawing Jeanne’s finger in, but Jeanne never felt her teeth.

That did it. Jeanne wrapped her arms around Cereza and gasped as she heard the other witch chuckling before their lips met. She squeezed her eyes shut and heard the door close behind Cereza; good, some privacy.

Jeanne felt Bayonetta’s arm encircle her waist when they broke apart, but she couldn’t open her eyes yet. Bayonetta’s voice finally broke the spell.

“You’ve been writing in that journal for over five hundred years! How did you not run out of pages yet?”

“I’m...a witch. We’re witches,” Jeanne said. “Haven’t you ever used the Infinite Page spell?”

Bayonetta’s only answer was to give her a certain look out of the corner of her eye. Jeanne had no idea how she kept for getting it: eye contact with this woman. It was an addiction.

  _B_

Jeanne had put out fluffy towels and unwrapped a new soap from the farmer’s market; it gave her spikes of pleasure up her spine to see Cereza examining it when she stepped in the shower.

“It’s day two, but...” She dawdled by the door for a minute, not-so surreptitiously watching the woman soap up. “I could always...I could slip in a tamp and strap you.”

“I’ll think about it, Jeanne. Are you feeling any better?”

She chuckled. “I’m on my cycle. My cervix wrecks _itself_ worse than you ever could. Don’t worry.”

Bayonetta held up her hair and glanced at her through the glass door. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

“The oil is heating up, I can’t leave it...I’ll just give you another kiss.”

Bayonetta slid open the shower door and Jeanne kissed her wet skin, feeling the warm spray of water on her cheeks. She would still feel the droplets on her eyelashes as she patted the potatoes with a paper towel.

_B_

“…that’s what he said when I asked about the assignment being overdue. ‘Ms D’Arc, Rome wasn’t built in a week!’ Smartass.”

“What did you say?”

“’That’s because it wasn’t given a deadline by its high school history teacher, Samson.’”

“Heartless. The poor boy probably just wanted an extension.”

Jeanne sat up, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth. “I know exactly what each of my students can accomplish in a week! Samson is one of the highest scorers in the class. If I don’t challenge him I’m not doing my job—and it’s not fair to the students who try their best, even if they get worse grades than he does!”

Bayonetta shook her head, sighing. “Maybe his parents will get angry because you flunked him, darling.”

“They did. They called and left me a voicemail about it. He can do no wrong in their eyes.”

“Then maybe it’s something else, something he wasn’t comfortable telling you about. You never know. He might be struggling on the inside.”

“So am I!” Jeanne said hotly. “I still come into work! I don’t let it affect my teaching, and he shouldn’t let it affect his education!”

Bayonetta’s head was tilted to the side and she was suddenly watching Jeanne with a different type of interest.

Jeanne looked down at her pot roast and potatoes. “Well, don’t mind that. Did you want to go for a ride tonight?” Bayonetta loved riding behind her on the motorbike at night. The sky would be a warm speckled gray and only the 24-hour stores’ signs would glow at street level. They’d both slip into Purgatorio, and Jeanne would sometimes rev it past an abandoned warehouse and Bayonetta would take potshots at its few remaining windows before bursting out laughing.

“Anything in particular you want to get off your chest, Jeanne?”

Where their fingers had been idly playing, interlaced, Jeanne’s hand jerked up involuntarily. Cereza caught her ring finger before Jeanne could completely pull away, and merely held it, with the same soft pressure she’d held it with her lips an hour earlier.

“You were always the bold one,” Bayonetta said.

Jeanne inhaled sharply.

“You remember, don’t you? _I_ was the shy one. They wanted to keep me away from the dark arts forever because mummy and daddy decided to fuck outside their clan, and they never wanted me to forget it. I could never understand why the girl who was most in her _element_ , most at _home_ with them, would seek _me_ out. Make me practice fighting with her,” she shifted her weight in her chair, looked at Jeanne from an angle again. “I got it all from _you_ . I even got most of my _memories_ back from you. Don’t you want to tell me what happened?”

“It...some things are...” Jeanne choked, and felt a rush of shame, “some things are just...I’m just all out of sorts this week, dear, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“You’ve been ‘out of sorts’ for running on three months.”

Yes. Since she’d seen Luka’s deoderant. But she’d expected to get over that by now. And telling Bayonetta about it would kill the mood, if not their affair entirely. It still didn’t explain why she was suddenly taking extreme offense to Bayonetta’s sense of humor, which she knew inside out.

More important, Jeanne could hear herself saying the words that she wanted to say in her head, and they sounded like the most badly written B-movie lines ever.

And Bayonetta would likely laugh her ass off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't lie down or do other horizontal activities right after eating you will give yourself heartburn!
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Food  
> Heavy sexual themes  
> Alcohol mentions

Bayonetta had come out of the shower to throw one of the last potato cubes in the oil. And then she had screamed and jumped behind the little pointless counter island. Jeanne looked up from the slow cooker.

The sizzle was impressive, but the pop and spray of oil was the real fireworks.

"It had water on it! You did not pat it sufficiently!" Cereza said indignantly, her shoulders raised under the terrycloth.

 _Pull yourself together_  had been on the tip of her tongue, but it stayed put. Instead she turned off the stove and kissed the bundle of towels on Cereza's head before stepping back to the slow cooker.

Cereza fussed over that, too. Had she left the meat in that all day? Wouldn't it be bland? Let her have some--actually, if it was this tender then she could plate it. "It's not trying to kill me. It's already dead. Give me five minutes for the salad."

"Then I'm going to go put on--" Jeanne's voice died in her throat. Her perfume. The one Cereza didn't like.

All the positive memories Jeanne had of wearing that fragrance felt stained by what the witch had said. Signature fragrances come to represent you, and Jeanne had worn hers for at least a couple hundred years. The worst part was now Cereza was looking at her expectantly, without the slightest clue.

 _It wasn't supposed to feel like this_.

_B_

Cereza had tired of waiting for her to respond and picked up the pan to shovel more potatoes on her plate.

"Are you going to finish..." Jeanne said slowly, and in such a quiet voice she didn't recognize it herself.

It had been  _easy_  to be bold as the heir to the Umbran witches. If you didn't have status, people could reject you in a thousand tiny ways. Bayonetta had grown up with exactly that, and the trauma had hit so deep it went completely through and  stopped her from giving a fuck. 

"I was going to feed you some, if you behave yourself. Come here," Cereza patted her lap. 

Jeanne pushed back her chair and climbed across those thighs to curl up against the armrest. Bayonetta gave her knees such a slow few strokes that she relaxed them, letting her feet dangle over the other armrest.

Bayonetta fed her a home fry and then ate a few bites herself. Jeanne savored how plain it was, yet rich and crispy. But why was Cereza eating so many pieces without adding spices? She'd set what condiments she did have out on the table.

Five sequential spots on Jeanne's back grew warm as Cereza changed her posture with a guiding hand. Jeanne took another bite off the fork: sesame cucumber salad.

The sesame oil's light toasted flavor, the crunch of the sesame seeds, and a good bit of white pepper, tamari and mirin just...brought the thin-skinned vegetables to life. It paired perfectly with the meat and potatoes, a respite. Jeanne moaned despite herself. "Those seeds. Please, again."

Bayonetta smiled and fed her another crunchy forkful, and even more nuances seemed to shine through. What did this woman have that made your five senses enhanced around her?

Cereza tapped her chin and Jeanne looked up. Bayonetta nuzzled into her neck, making Jeanne lean back, and planted a kiss over her esophagus. Jeanne couldn't strangle a gasp. She fell back against the armrest and leaned her head against it, shutting her eyes tightly.

"You're going to be the death of me, Bayonetta."

Jeanne opened her eyes to see the upper corner of the wall; a familiar smell completely different from that of their dinner had come from nowhere. She had to crane her neck back up from the armrest to see Bayonetta applying perfume--Jeanne's perfume--to both of her wrists for her, and then gently rubbing them together.

"Didn't you shoot this full of holes out back?" Jeanne muttered as she watched the little travel atomizer be set on the glass side table where she'd left her journal.

"You took me seriously?"

"You sounded serious!"

She glanced back at Bayonetta, who was looking at her incredulously.

"What kind of person would I be, dear? Destroying something you chose and spent hard earned human money on? And why?"

Jeanne said, "I supposed you didn't like it on me."

Bayonetta laughed. "That would still be a bad reason."

"I mean, yeah."

Bayonetta ran a finger over Jeanne's lower lip, and Jeanne hoped she couldn't see the tears in her eyes. 

Bayonetta was smiling. "Maybe no more sarcasm. Maybe just...what's the word? Oh. _Sincerity_."

"Who has been feeding you this psychobabble?"

Bayonetta shook her head. "I may have visited Rodin. To ask for some advice."

"I'm sure he enjoyed that. On which topic?"

"You." 

Jeanne's mouth was suddenly dry. She shut her eyes and leaned her neck over the armrest again, face burning.

"And--and what did he say?"

Bayonetta's other hand, she could feel, was rubbing between her knees in askance. Jeanne pulled her right leg a few inches further down the armrest and savored the anticipation.

"That who does he look like, Cupid? I may have shot one of his Calvados off the shelf to let him know I wasn't fucking around."

"You are a bad girl! What did those floral notes of apples and summer ever do to you?! You should have shot the Bacardi!"

"I drink Bacardi," Bayonetta walked her fingers up the inside of Jeanne's thigh. This was an understatement. Bayonetta had a personal relationship with Bacardi. She and Bacardi fucked bitches together.

One of only about three times Jeanne had seen anything other than beautiful confidence in Bayonetta's eyes was the night the witch had invited her over and asked her how she felt about not only taking their obvious chemistry to bed, but also about her bisexuality.

Jeanne had pointed to a bottle on the counter. "You use this to dress _wounds_."

"I drink it."

"You _cook_ with it. _Fruitcake_ \--"

"I drink it," Bayonetta's nervous smile was becoming a real one.

"I don't understand."

"It's a two step process. You pour it into a glass with Coke. And then you start dancing."

Now Bayonetta's fingers were comfortably resting against Jeanne's clitoral hood, and the teacher was meeting the seated witch's eyes weakly. "I _like_ your sense of humor, Cereza...I've just..."

"As I was saying," Cereza murmured, making a teasing circle with her thumb that made Jeanne's back arc, "He finally coughed up some damned smart stuff once I blew your precious Calvados off the shelf. He said relationships are a creative way to waste your time as well as someone else's by lying for up to 30 years. He said young people's fashion of open and clear communication is projected to result in not only fewer divorces but also a relationship tailored to a particular person and their partners, not a one size fits all goal of marriage as the end-all."

"Rodin's out of his damned mind."

"Asexuals just know things, Jeanne. Anyway...he mentioned 'checking in', he said anyone you live with or know could benefit from it...but what he told me about it...it reminded me of when they'd sit me down and yell at me if I breathed wrong."

Jeanne was shifting her hips into the rhythmic movement of Bayonetta's hand, now curling under her clitoris. "It's much...the same."

"Oh?" the fingers paused. 

"C- _Cereza_!"

They began to circle gently again, and Jeanne fell back against the armrest in relief.

"Tell me."

"Mmm...nothing...much to tell. I had...mmm...a roommate, her check ins were accusing me of scratching the wood floor, not cleaning the bathtub when I had...she was nuts."

Bayonetta must have liked that answer, because she increased the pressure and moved faster, just enough to make Jeanne cry out.

"Mmm--mm! They--they go over it in som--unh--some other classes, my kids tell me. But it's been ruined for me," Jeanne, hoping to God Bayonetta's hand would keep going, rested the back of her neck on the armrest and felt a bead of sweat run down her temple.

"Maybe I can un-ruin it."

Is that what they were doing now?

"I won't be mad no matter what you answer, Jeanne darling. You need to trust me on that. But I implore you to answer me sincerely in return."

"All...all right..."

Bayonetta kissed the inside of Jeanne's wrist. Jeanne realized she was lingering to smell the dried down central notes of her perfume.

"Are you seeing anyone else?"

The relief that exploded in her stomach was almost a distraction. Almost. "Ha...unh...no one."

"Can you tell me why you keep leaving in the morning?"

This one was harder, and Jeanne just couldn't make the words come. After a minute she raised her right arm to tap the seal off the journal.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i took a while to do this chapter with some false starts because it didn't seem good enough and tbh i still see some things that are like that. I like chapter 1 and 3 but not 2 and 4. but I just can't be a perfectionist anymore so here we are. Also i was writing it on my phone in a student concert and like, really hope they couldn't read it from behind me
> 
> thanks for reading and all your wonderfully kind words they are really motivating!

"I've gotten into trouble for reading this before," Bayonetta said thoughtfully, turning the closed book over. Its little red ribbon was sticking out of the middle. 

And she had. Twice. Once at age 7, and then again at age 15. Jeanne had screamed at her both times. Cereza didn't keep a journal.

"You stopped speaking to me for a month," Cereza said, glancing at Jeanne. "Even during the holidays."

Jeanne was leaning into the armrest and gouging it with short fingernails. Bayonetta specialized in being unpredictable and one of her favorite torture devices--rapid changes in the tempo and rhythm she used to play with Jeanne's clit---was just distracting enough, right now.

Bayonetta hated the holidays anyway. She said they were for people with happy families to come home to. Which, Jeanne supposed, was true in modern life as well. And if she really thought about it, the reason for the undercurrent of hurt in her voice right now was due to the fact that Jeanne had been in many ways her closest thing to a happy family.

"I'm _not_ going through that again, Jeanne. Are you _entirely_ sure about letting me--"

Jeanne couldn't help a whimper. She was lightheaded; from her uneven breathing or the way the armchair was sculpting her neck into a modern art piece, she wasn't sure. Her whole body was tensed up and each wave of sensation made her desperately want comfort. She was becoming aware of the rest of her body starting to hurt from being twisted over and in a small space, but her mind was responding with _so what, they make painkillers for that, it's no big deal--_

It just felt narrow, like she might fall off, because Bayonetta wasn't exactly holding her. And if she did--the humiliation of ending a quickie on the floor was actually frightening. God, the thought of Bayonetta's bold laughter. Her derisive chuckles when fighting something bigger than her. Jeanne gritted her teeth like she was biting.

"Wait--what is the matter?!"

Bayonetta had noticed. Crap.

Jeanne felt herself being lifted up--Bayonetta must have left the journal on the table again--and then she couldn't stop herself, she wrapped her arms around Bayonetta's neck. Now she was really dizzy after being horizontal for so long.

"Jeanne! Open your eyes--look at me, now," Bayonetta said.

Jeanne did, just barely. God, didn't Bayonetta know she couldn't leave someone hanging like that? She straddled the witch's thigh and started grinding helplessly.  She felt Bayonetta slip her hand between vulva and thigh and--

Jeanne cried out again, breathed again, and leaned her forehead on the witch's shoulder.

"Oh. She _likes_ that," Bayonetta murmured with a teasing edge to her voice.

Jeanne clutched her, chasing that elusive feeling, wishing for it both to continue indefinitely and to finally reach its apex. She caught her breath and leaned her brow against Cereza's shoulder. Then--she kissed it. Just quickly.

She heard Cereza gasp and looked up, still moving, and she realized that was what Cereza had done earlier--in the absence of words, and body language not being infallible, they communicated through meeting their eyes.

And sometimes she deprived Cereza of even that. Out of fear.

And then it hit, like a match being lit, but your whole body was the match. The current spread right through her, and she didn't try to cry out, but the result was that she gasped so hard it almost made her sick and she mewled as she fell away from Cereza's chest. Jeanne flopped back across the armchair, and rolled inward, and felt her sweaty short hair. Her breath was coming in half-coughs for a few moments before she could get to a regular pace of breathing hard.

A minute passed before she felt movement again. Bayonetta had picked up the book, and she felt strangely both light and heavy as it was lifted over her. She didn't have enough strength left in her back to sit upright, so she pushed off the armrest with both arms until she was at Cereza's eye level.

Jeanne kissed her just in front of her ear. Bayonetta's eyes were focused on the book in front of her, and Jeanne heard the crackle as the cover was lifted and opened. It was like the sound of a wick burning. Faint. But it still felt like being naked to someone else's eyes.

Her shoulders tensed up and narrowed, and then she felt those same five warm spots on her back pushing, and laying her up against Bayonetta, pressing their chests together.

Jeanne wrapped her arms around the other witch's midsection and leaned her cheek and temple against the top of her chest, willing her heart to return to a calm beat. God, how she wanted to be in bed, where she could stretch out. Where she could sink into that wonderful human invention, memory foam. It was like sleeping on a fluffy pancake, and when you were drunk, it was like sleeping atop a melting pint of Talenti Blood Orange Sorbetto, slowly sinking inside.

"Jeanne."

She didn't realize she could forget the fact that Bayonetta was reading her diary that quickly. Jeanne opened her eyes again and Bayonetta was looking out of the corner of her own eye at her. Jeanne pushed her forehead into Bayonetta's cheek before giving her another kiss there.

"I..." Bayonetta looked back at the pages, and Jeanne couldn't turn, even if it wouldn't hurt her neck horribly: she couldn't see what page of her innermost thoughts was currently boring the witch. She just couldn't. "I was going to ask how far I can go back. I know you...I know you're serious about your privacy, you know."

All Jeanne had to do was tell her a date she remembered very well: the deoderant date. But the words just...they died before they even reached her lips. She was looking at Bayonetta, just waiting for her to lose patience and possibly leave.

God, that would carve an entirely new scar into Jeanne's heart.

It didn't seem to be happening at the moment, though. Bayonetta pulled her in even closer with the hand not holding the book. Jeanne hid for a moment or two alongside the witch's neck, listening to two pages being flipped, each one like a finger dragged down her spine. She felt like her blush might permanently stain her face at this point. God, it was being _read_. And it wasn't like she could avoid the question--time was valuable, Bayonetta's more so, since she did have Luka, and he _never_ shut up, conversations would be a cinch with him--

"J-January...thirteenth. I...I just...I'm sorry..."

Jeanne was dimly aware of her whole body having begun to shake. It was of its own accord, and she tried to clutch herself to make it stop--eliciting a whimper from Bayonetta.

" _Jeanne_."

Jeanne hugged her again, and planted a kiss helplessly on the side of her neck, the shadow it was in making her skin even more beautiful. The only light to speak of was coming from the little green shaded table lamp.

Bayonetta tapped her chin up again and brought her into a real kiss this time, and god was she ever grateful for the distraction. A moment later as they broke apart, Jeanne asked with her lips for more, and she felt Bayonetta smile as she acquiesced, as if a secret game had been won. Jeanne was fairly certain that even if she did close her eyes, Bayonetta was continuing to read the book behind her.

 

_B_

 

A long makeout session (a really long one, not the quick whatevers that were technically foreplay) for its own sake made Jeanne feel like she was asleep, but a better kind of sleep.

Which was why when they gently broke apart and Cereza murmured, "That's enough for now. I'll leave the rest of your secrets in peace," and Jeanne remembered what was happening, and had to start panicking about it all over again--

She heard Bayonetta place the book on the table behind her, and then felt her brush the back of her fingertips across Jeanne's cheek with the same hand.

"I love you."

Jeanne slipped to the carpet and landed on her elbows.

"I'm going to go put the dishes away and pick out a toy for your strap," Bayonetta stood and settled into a kneel in front of her, "Take your time getting ready, dear."

 

_B_

 

"You wear men's deoderant," Jeanne snapped.

Bayonetta took the Old Spice Fiji out of her hand, and applied it deftly under her arms, then Jeanne's arms, and then set it on the sink. Jeanne wanted to rip off the towel bar, but she was renting. She mentioned this to Bayonetta.

"If you _really_ want to do it, I won't stop you," the witch said, and then walked out. Jeanne didn't know what else in the bathroom was fit to be destroyed, so she settled for sitting in the shower for a few moments with her face in her hands.

Tampon. Painkillers. Right. How on _earth_ had she forgotten. All she needed was toxic slime scoundrel or whatever his name was to make everything even _worse_. And actually, after a cooling few minutes in the shower things felt much better. When she turned off the faucet, only a small percentage of the shame was left digging into her.

Talking about things was the worst. No _wonder_ most in relationships avoided it and failed. It was honestly almost worth heartbreak if your only other choice was feeling stupid, vulnerable, wrong, and awkward because you explained what you felt.

Jeanne didn't have a lot of options in the toy department, and none of them were to Bayonetta's taste exactly; she knew because at Bayonetta's house there was an entire cabinet devoted to toys in materials like borosilicate glass and safe-glazed ceramic, and even one made out of volcanic stone. The glass dildoes were colorful art pieces, Bayonetta's bedroom lights playing in neon zigzags through them. And they had different textures, nubs, even spikes--although Bayonetta had laughed at that, "If you think _those_ are spikes, I hope you never use the iron maiden torture attack, dear," across their hard surfaces. An acquired taste, Jeanne had thought of them, like Bacardi, and the different outfits Bayonetta liked to dress up in while beating the shit out of angels.

So there was the risk of her own options being boring.

Bayonetta had picked out three out of the four when she finally slipped inside and settled on a corner of the bedspread. They were all smooth and made from silicone, and although the shapes varied a little, they were all from the same high-end developer. Jeanne slipped into the harness with ease; _someone_ had been a doll and untangled it for her.

"Feel this," Bayonetta passed her one; it had a zigzag base, as opposed to the other two. It was a sensation thing for the wearer. Jeanne was far too sensitive from earlier, and chose the others Bayonetta had selected, which both had flat and smooth bases. Which left Bayonetta to choose from a slightly more curved to a completely straight dildo.

She eventually went for the curved one, and neatly stowed the unused ones away before helping Jeanne equip it.

"Spin that electronic music you like."

Jeanne sighed. "I was actually going to have you pick what to listen to. You have better taste."

"I was _not_ serious when I was making fun of it. I told you," Bayonetta sounded remarkably upset. "I regret doing that."

"Well it _is_ bad music. Even the students think so. They try to make me listen to the most random things to cure me," Jeanne said. "Do you know what a diss track is?"

Bayonetta resisted when she tried to pull the sheet over them both. "Please. Play it. All right?"

"You don't _like_ it."

"Of _course_ I do! _It reminds me of you_!"

Jeanne looked at the witch on the other end of the pillow. She shut her eyes, sighed, sat up and slammed play on the stupid 1980s stereo she should have given up for at _least_ an iPod and docking speaker in the early aughts. She already knew one of her favorite CDs was inside, and it was a mix CD, because she was the only one who still made them, of random tropical house mp3s from Dancing Pineapple on Soundcloud and who knows who else.

Bayonetta pulled close to her and clambered onto the setup. Jeanne stopped her and gestured to the bottle of Sliquid on the sheets.

"I'm fine."

"Cereza..."

"I need to feel something. Some drag--it's softer than the ones I normally go for--it's fine. Jeanne, _please_."

Jeanne muttered, "You're going to hurt yourself," but she let Bayonetta come close enough, ease herself against it with her hands on Jeanne's shoulder and the mattress. The deeper she let it go, the more she rested against Jeanne, and the more her breathing rhythm became the sound of pleasure Jeanne knew so well. Jeanne hadn't noticed her being so wet; God, what had gone through her mind while Jeanne was at her mercy earlier?

Bayonetta had almost collapsed against her chest, but key to it was that she dug one hand's sweet fingers into Jeanne's shoulder blade and the other into her hair, forearm snaking around the back of her neck.

And then with a sniff, Bayonetta rested her chin on Jeanne's sternum to look up at her. "You know, people say something back, usually."

There was a heartbeat when Jeanne didn't know what she was talking about.

Her fingertips just grazed the sides of Bayonetta's ribs, not even enough pressure to tickle, and then she finally nodded. She put a hand on Bayonetta's lower back to anchor her without dictating her movement too much and trailed the other against the sheets behind her, to anchor herself. She let her bare feet feel the cotton as she finally stretched out just a bit more.

"You don't have to answer right now if you don't want to," Bayonetta whispered. God, her smile was the end of desire. "I know you'll say you love me, anyway. But," and with a quick movement of her head she gestured to a wall of books behind her, "If you had told me instead of writing that down, we might've gotten started on some of that."

Jeanne's eyes flitted to a book on her nightstand. It was a children's book about a dragon who flew around an island lighting lanterns. She had bought it for someone's baby shower but ended up bringing some other gift because she was too attached--it was completely opposite from the mood of their current situation and she had no idea why it had popped into her mind--

"Because I _know_ you love me. Not 'love you too', but you were ready to keep loving me even when you didn't think it was _ever_ going to be returned."

"Can we not go over that part?" Jeanne's face was burning. She was glad it was dark.

"I know you think it's silly to feel that way because you saw the deoderant, but I didn't get a kiss goodbye Sunday and I've felt a mess. Actually, I didn't get a kiss good morning either, and you've left while I've been asleep a few times--"

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to y--"

Bayonetta put a finger to Jeanne's lips. " You can leave anytime you want and go to the end of the earth if Inferno moves you. But you are to wake me and kiss me goodbye. I don't care if it's three in the morning. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

The finger lowered, thumb tugging Jeanne's lower lip down so Cereza could taste that word again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Sex. Product placement. Extremely minor violence at the end maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't want to jinx it but got a new job !!! Writing this was a great coping mechanism for me for the past weeks

Bayonetta was undoing the fitted sheet. She was burying Jeanne in the smell of clean sheets and skin and shampoo. Her grip was so tight, her weight so perfect on top, Jeanne never ever wanted this to end, but _oh_.

It was a ride in more ways than one.

The first sounds were always laughter, punctuated with satisfied hums; then faster, breathier cries ending in chuckles and gulps, and then finally hot, completely bare _yells_ to the rhythm she was grinding to, the pleasure burning right through her, and Jeanne ate it all _up_. It was a _dream_ to hear the fulfillment in Bayonetta's voice, the joy in her laughter.

Jeanne tried to kiss her--not that it was easy with a target determined to move this fast--and got a manicured thumb and forefinger clutching her chin, turning her face away. Jeanne dropped her head back against the pillow, defeated.

God. It felt so good. Losing to Bayonetta _always_ felt good.

She shut her eyes, content, and then heard an irregularity in her beloved's sex noises.

"Time--for that-- _AAHNNN_ \--later--"

"Oh?" She opened her eyes to give the witch a glance. "Scheming, are we?"

Bayonetta grabbed Jeanne's shoulders through the sheets and, continuing her deep, comfortable motions, opened those eyes she'd closed in pleasure. She focused on Jeanne and cocked her head and Jeanne would do anything for those eyes.

"Nnnh," Bayonetta moaned and panted. " _Hold_ me, damn it!"

Jeanne's hands found the witch's butt with some fumbling and, after some strokes that made Bayonetta mewl and smile, raised her hands to apply some pressure to her lower back. She still needed Bayonetta to decide the angle and depth she was taking it. The witch relaxed her fingers on Jeanne's shoulders--she gasped--god, what new sensations had that given her--and she dropped her upper body again, resting her brow for a moment against Jeanne's sternum.

Bayonetta's hands flitted down Jeanne's arms--came to a rest on the backs of her wrists. And there was so much gratitude in that touch that Jeanne felt filled with heat. God, Bayonetta _loved_ that she was touching her like this.

"How steady...do you think my hands are?" Bayonetta murmured, each word ending with a hot intake of breath that coincided with the bump of her sweet hips.

"Hm?"

"Think."

Jeanne longed to kiss her, but she'd wait. She satisfied herself with meeting Bayonetta's eyes. "You?...You. _You_ can multitask. If an applaud or twelve burst in here..." She made finger guns of the hands that were holding Bayonetta. "Bang, bang. You wouldn't need to get up. And I think it'd get you off, honestly."

"Like it wouldn't do the same to you."

" _Everything_ you say or do does."

Bayonetta shook her head in mock indignation. "Not like me killing angels while riding you would. And that isn't even what I meant. This isn't for _their_ prying little eyes."

Jeanne was momentarily distracted by trying to remember if angels even had eyes. And that turned into a memory of the fact that scorpions' entire bodies were their eyes. You had weird thoughts during sex sometimes. Bayonetta, meanwhile, was picking something off the bedside table and playing with it with both hands. That left Jeanne in control of making sure her rhythm didn't break; but Bayonetta's hips guided her perfectly, she just had to stay right behind the movement and not press for too long.

"Pucker up, darling."

"That's--that's my lipstick. You're going to get that on my teeth. You're going to get it in my eyes."

"Oh? What happened to _you--you can multitask?_ "

And the way Bayonetta's voice came out while she imitated Jeanne hurt, and she was determined not to show that it hurt--not at a time like this--and since her face did not move, the witch must have picked up on something in her eyes.

"You don't actually sound like that," Bayonetta murmured, and cradled Jeanne's face, and Jeanne shut her eyes almost angrily.

"Bayo--"

"I didn't ask you to lie to me now, did I?"

Jeanne opened her eyes again. "No."

"Well then. Let me correct myself. It's not a big deal," Bayonetta went back to playing with the Yves Saint Laurent Le Rouge or whatever it was (it was definitely YSL Le Rouge).

"You're going to graffiti my face. Can you at least define my eyebrows?"

"Silly Jeanne, this is _lipstick_ , you don't define your _brows_ with it," Bayonetta braced her elbow against Jeanne and swiped along her lower lip. It felt good. It actually felt great. And now Jeanne couldn't throw that lipstick out no matter how worn down it got. Or if it expired.

"You think I can shoot some applauds while fucking you, but not this?"

Jeanne muttered, "It's all work, and it's all very refined...and you're more refined than anything...but delicate work is harder."

Bayonetta nipped at her chin. "And you don't think I can do it."

She smirked then, because she was applying Jeanne's top lip, and knew Jeanne wouldn't risk a response. And Jeanne wondered why it was so funny and then remembered: just hours ago, words were stuck behind her lips of their own accord.

This was Bayonetta recognizing how much she'd opened up.

"All...done," the witch said, capping the lipstick. "Go on, press together...good girl. It came out perfectly."

"What if I don't believe you?"

"Where's your mirror? Oh, here's your phone. Even better."

Bayonetta _would_ be of the people who took selfies while _actually_ having sex. She pushed Jeanne's cheek to the pillow with her own, front-camera'd it. No flash, thank God. They both studied the photo a moment later. It didn't just look good, it looked wonderful. Jeanne's heart hadn't been beating slowly for quite a while now, but this photo made her feel lightheaded to the point where she had to take a long breath listening to how many beats were crammed into even a single second.

Bayonetta blew a kiss at the phone before putting it back on the nightstand. "Did you see it on your teeth? In your eye? You _really_ don't know what these hands can do, and you should know _best_."

Jeanne kissed her cheek.

She didn't give Bayonetta a moment to think; she kissed her shoulder, a couple of kisses on the side of her neck, then when the woman moaned and relaxed her head back, a kiss on the sensitive spot where her neck hitched her jaw. She heard--she _felt_ \--Bayonetta's breaths of pleasure as she pulled back to survey the leopard print of red marks.

" _I--love--you_ ," Bayonetta whispered, almost angry, as they almost floated back to the pillow together. Bayonetta changed her rhythm, moved her hips up, and Jeanne knew she was trying to get fullness and pressure against her G-spot, _hard_ , instead of thrusting. That was how she liked to finish off most orgasms. Bayonetta looked so beautiful as she leaned back and pushed her head back, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip.

Jeanne reached her hands up to cradle Bayonetta's face, and the witch was pliant at being brought down to Jeanne's lips.

"I _told_ you it's not my color," Bayonetta said in mock anguish when they broke apart. Then she shut her eyes tight and _moaned_ , and Jeanne braced her around the ribs as she cried out again, arched her back, thrusted one last time. She gripped the bedspread and willingly accepted Jeanne's shoulder as she sank her face down, finally falling back to earth, panting.

Jeanne unbuckled the harness and dropped it off to the side somewhere. She sat up, Bayonetta relaxed along her neck, and let Bayonetta's weakened arms grope around until they found the headboard.

"You don't have enough pillows," the witch said.

"I know, I know," Jeanne said softly. You needed to say exactly that, in exactly that tone, after sex. No exceptions. Even if they'd said 'I think they've come back for me, I heard them land on the roof' or 'I left the stove on at my place,' or 'Jeanne, I have had so much better and you are a waste of my time'. "Get comfortable and rest. I'm going to go get you something to drink."

Bayonetta looked at her as if she hadn't understood the words, and set her hands against Jeanne's shoulder blades.

"Cereza...I'm just getting you some Gatorade, don't worry..."

Jeanne kissed her chastely on the forehead, and Bayonetta finally let go, lying on her back in bed. Jeanne pushed the pillow under the back of her head. It hit her then. Bayonetta was afraid she was leaving again.

She stroked Bayonetta's cheek with her palm until her eyes opened again and then waited for full consciousness to return to those eyes. In a few moments Bayonetta shifted away from her hand and sat up, cheeks reddening.

"I have to apologize," Jeanne said.

"Oh?"

"I used to think you were only in it for fun, Cereza."

The slap hit her quick as a whip, left her cheek stinging. Bayonetta was blushing as she tucked that hand under a sheaf of hair and tossed it behind her.

"I deserved that."

"Yes you did."

Jeanne stood up, holding her cheek with some sad pride. "I'll be looking after you, too, from now on."

" _All_ these books about relationships. Took you _forever_ to remember. Or was that just for ones with others?" Bayonetta shrugged beautifully. "You said it yourself; ' _the real gift is the time_ '. I was waiting for when you'd give it to me."

 _Aftercare_. It was practically a chapter on its own in all the sex and relationship books Jeanne had. Bayonetta had given it to her; she had left before bothering to check if Bayonetta needed it.

"And by the way, I won't be ditching you for Luka if you disappoint me. I'd be ditching you for _myself._ "

Jeanne inclined her head, but didn't look away. Bayonetta stood, shakily, and walked over to Jeanne.

"Beautiful hair...let me comb it, or maybe in the morning?" Jeanne murmured, running her fingers through the black tresses, very gently, because they were tangled.

"Maybe now."

"I have some leave-in conditioner you'd love, too..."

"I'd like that," Bayonetta said, and leaned against her as they walked together. "And a spritz of that watermelon detangler you have. I don't know why you have it, but you do."

"I'll grow my hair out...someday."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Epilogue 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm waiting for something so I just typed this quick on my phone enjoy

It was raining.

Jeanne became faintly aware of this under several layers of sheet, comforter, and dream. There was a pattering sound against the window somewhere above her and the sound of wind. And then, as she processed what this meant, the sound of drops hitting car roofs just outside--

Jeanne stuck the top half of her face out from under the warm bedclothes and grumbled.

Rain. A storm.  Meaning she needed to repark Angel Slayer. That motorcycle didn't need anymore leather treatments or chrome buffing or the acrid smell of anti rust spray that managed to overpower her perfume no matter how careful she was--

Jeanne pulled the covers angrily back over her, then finally pushed herself off the mattress. She shivered as she lost contact with the other form beneath the sheets.

"Going to put the bike in the garage?" Cereza murmured.

"Why are you awake? Yes." Not just awake, reading. Bayonetta had been snuggled against her back, reading the dragon childrens' book from Jeanne's bed table. 

"I can help."

"Go back to sleep, sweetie," Jeanne said as she scrambled for clothes. "It's a one-person job..."

Bayonetta said, "I mean, cleaning it. It's been in the rain for hours."

"Damn it!" Jeanne took her jacket and ran outside, flew down the steps in lynx form, Angel Slayer revving of its own accord upon seeing her and rushing to stop in before her at the curb. She was soaked the moment she stepped on and directed the enchanted vehicle inside her apartment's garage.

Jeanne didn't really have a space in the underground garage--it was a stupid building policy that single-occupancy units had only street parking and she couldn't afford anything better--but a friendly neighbor allowed her to use his spot since he had a smaller car and she could just about sneak Angel Slayer beside it.

She stepped off the bike and dripped her way across the yellow-line partitioned asphalt. At the elevators she was surprised to be suddenly wrapped in a large red towel. Bayonetta nudged her into the waiting elevator, still reading the book. 

Jeanne sighed as they went back up to her floor. She turned to look out at the city through the glass behind them, and felt Cereza pat a droplet off her nose.

 


End file.
